Tales of Neverland
by ILoveLukeC
Summary: Peter Pan's story, after being retold over and over again, has been tampered with and has given us all foul information. Killian knows the real story. He's on a mission to find Peter, but that doesn't mean he's going to let Rumplestiltskin weasel his way out of his grip when he finds him. This is a story you haven't heard before. Maybe that's a good thing.
1. Chapter 1

In a place unlike this one, in the middle of a dark blue ocean, sat a ship—a ship constructed by enchanted wood, the strongest masts and the best rope and fabric for sails.

The ship was in an ocean that hadn't been explored.

Months ago, it had set sail from the docks of the Kingdom, blessed with Prince Charming and Snow White's best wishes. They hoped to seek new land to claim; more magic to use to protect their Kingdom and their people.

At the front of the ship, sat a child of twelve, his brown hair glinting red in the light of the sun, his light brown eyes focused on the lapping waves of blues and greens.

He stood on his tiptoes to watch a mermaid peek her head from the water.

He took in her heart-shaped face, her wavy red hair, and her eyes that seemed to reflect all the colors of the sea. She smiled at him, lifting an arm from the water, revealing pink fins attached from her wrist to her elbow, as she waved and called, "Hello, Peter! How are you today?"

Peter grinned shyly, waving back, and saying, "I'm great!"

A man strode toward Peter, chuckling.

Peter jumped, glancing over his tiny shoulder. When he noticed the man, he laughed and turned, running toward him to be embraced in a warm hug.

"Ah, my little Peter," The man said, poking him on the nose. "Flirting with mermaids already?"

Peter made a face at him.

The man chuckled as a woman walked up the stairs from below deck.

She held a green bundle in her arms, which she held next to her chest protectively. "Pan. How much longer?"

Pan looked up to the woman, standing and wrapping an arm around her shoulders, kissing her on the forehead. "Soon, my dear. We're almost there. I can feel it."

She rolled her livid blue eyes. "Yes, of course. Do you remember the last time you said that to me?"

Pan sighed. "I have a feeling you're about to tell me about it."

Pan walked away to man the wheel as his wife babbled on about something that had angered her years ago, which she somehow still remembered.

Peter turned back to stare out to the water, watching mermaids dice through the water with their sharp tails and fins. They occasionally looked up and smiled, causing him to grin and wave enthusiastically.

Someone tapped Peter on the shoulder.

Peter whirled around, his heart pounding, until he realized who stood behind him. It was his only friend on the ship since the last dock, several months ago—Killian Jones, the son of one of the traders' who lived on the ship.

Killian looked older for his age—he had a rugged appearance with his bristly four o'clock shadow, the golden loop in his left earlobe and the smirk that was always glued on his face. He was wearing that smirk right now—a knowing lopsided grin as if to say, _I know something you don't know and guess what? I'm not going to tell you._

Killian's fist was closed and he held it out to Peter, quirking an eyebrow.

"What'd you got there?" Peter asked.

Killian looked around, his eyes flitting across the deck.

Killian smirked, waving his fist. "It's something major. Something bigger than big."

Peter rolled his eyes. "What? Stale bread?"

Killian shook his head. "With this, we could buy three loaves of _fresh _bread."

Peter's interest was quirked as his stomach gave a growl.

Killian opened his fist, revealing a cool glittery doubloon the size of Peter's wide eyes.

Peter thrust his hand forward, picking up the unfamiliar golden coin. Peter ran his fingers over the engravings in the stamped gold; he bit into it like the dwarves in the mines always did.

Peter stared at it once more in awe. "How did you find this?"

Killian suddenly grew serious. "If I tell you, you can't spill it, Pan. Got it?" Killian furrowed his eyebrows, looking rather fierce with the golden loop in his ear and the seriousness in his expression.

Peter nodded frantically to the older boy.

Killian smiled, showing off his white teeth that put the clams' pearls to shame. "So, I was listening in on the meeting behind the door of the sleeping quarters," He started.

…

The night before, Killian had pressed his ear against the cool bark of the door where the meeting was being held. Killian couldn't hear much, but he could hear snippets of conversation.

"… Magic," A frail sounding man spoke, "lots and lots of it."

Murmuring broke out in the room. Magic had been hard to find ever since the Evil Queen cut off their magical sources, destroying many of the powerful artifacts and places. The only way they got magic now was from the dwarf mines and the fairies' secret stash of golden dust.

"Hold it," A commanding voice rung out.

Killian recognized the voice. It was Gaston, some prissy trader from the land of the Beast. He was a scumbag from what Killian knew—forced a woman to marry him. But, it was quite funny over the rest of the story—the woman had chosen a _beast _over Gaston. A wrenched, smelly beast with talons for claws and sabers for teeth!

"How do we know you're not lying to us?" Gaston snapped.

Killian had been wondering that, too. Magic was too sparse for there to be '_lots and lots of it_'. Magic seemed as close to this ship as this legendary island they were searching for.

"I would not be foolish enough to board a pirate ship in order to lie," The frail man said slowly.

A bustle of activity erupted.

"_Pirates_!" Gaston shouted in outrage. "I'll show you—"

"Enough!" Captain Pan shouted over the noise.

Everyone stopped arguing at the authority in Pan's voice.

Killian had always envied the Captain—and who wouldn't?

Captain Pan was much more successful than Killian's poor trader of a father. Captain Pan had his very own ship, his very own crew, a beautiful wife and two adorable kids.

Killian pressed his ear harder against the door, eagerly listening in on the crew's scolding.

"Sir, I can assure you, we are not pirates," Pan explained patiently to the frail voice of what Killian suspected was an old man. "We are merely commoners wishing for something different than the states we are in at the moment in time."

"Do mere commoners pillage?" The old man questioned. "Do mere commoners mock their own kin? Do mere commoners—"

"Oh, pipe down, old man!" Gaston snapped, causing a few nervous laughs.

"Do mere commoners disrespect their elders?" The man asked icily.

Pan cleared his throat. "Sir, I swear. None of us are thieves. None of us are pirates. Some of us _are_ disrespectful, but that can always be fixed. Now, sir, about this magic you were speaking about…?"

The old man spoke, "Yes. The magic. It's on an island that's been … well, _lost _for a few millennium. The very _water _holds power beyond belief. It's said the water grants its consumer with immortality."

Murmurs shot across the room.

_To live forever, _Killian thought. _Bah. Too good to be true._

"There's even _treasure _on this island," The old man said, "You pirates would love that."

Captain Pan emitted a low groan, giving up on trying to persuade the old man of how they most certainly did not participate in the ill acts of piracy.

The rest of the crew perked up, though, including Killian.

"Treasure, treasure, treasure!" The crew began to chant, giddy with excitement.

Killian stood, a grin appearing as his face as he dashed down the hall back to his sleeping quarters, where he jumped into his cot, wrapped his blanket around himself and feinted sleep just as the door to Pan's quarters opened, and man after man stepped out to go to their separate rooms.

"But, be warned," The old man whispered to Pan. Greed is a common demise. If greed clouds your mind, you're as good as dead."

On that jolly note, the old man shuffled from the room, leaving Pan to stand alone, the flickering light of the wax candles blanketing his furrowed brow in dark shadows.

…

Killian glared at the giant towering over him.

"So, Scruff. When you lettin' me out?" Killian asked, jingling the golden chain tightened around his right hand.

The giant scowled down at him.

"When ten hours is up," The giant's voice boomed.

Killian sighed, lowering his arm.

"Look, um, big guy," Killian started uneasily. "I've lost family just like you. I … know how you feel."

The giant frowned upon Killian's pathetic attempt at sympathy.

"My family was killed by ruthless humans," The giant said, slamming his closed fist into his open palm. "They were given no chance at survival."

Killian let out a bitter laugh. "Seems we're in the same boat, big guy," Killian sighed, his face visibly darkening. "I lost my family like you."

"Ruthless humans?" The giant asked, raising a furry eyebrow.

"No, not necessarily," Killian said, sighing. "Just the influence of magic and childish curiosity."

**The dots (…) mean the scene's changing, which will happen occasionally. The scene will switch from the past and the present, between both dimensions, not in the same order, just whenever it seems right. (That sounded really smart. –pats self on back-)**

**I wrote this because, well, I've been obsessed with Peter Pan since I was little. He was my imaginary brother when I was a kid and he kinda followed me as I grew older. I want to be able to include all I can in this—Peter, his shadow, Tinker bell, the Lost Boys, Killian getting his hands on Rumple's scaly neck and where Peter is in our world.**

**Leave a review, please!**


	2. Chapter 2

At the darkest hour of midnight, Killian rapped his fist against the door to Peter's quarters. Killian tried his best to be quiet, considering how Peter's mother and infant brother were probably fast asleep.

Killian began to get anxious—Was Peter playing him a fool? Would Peter even show up?

The door cracked open and Peter poked his head out.

Peter stepped out from behind the door, turning his back to Killian as he closed it gently. Peter turned back around.

"Let's get going," Peter said, rubbing his eyes with the sleeves of his dark green bed shirt.

Killian led the way, a single candle flickering in the rusted lantern he held out at an arms' length.

…

Killian tugged on the chain.

"Has it been ten hours yet?" Killian asked in earnest.

The giant shook his head. "More like ten minutes."

Killian groaned in frustration. "It'll take me nine hours just to get down that damned beanstalk!"

The giant laughed, a noise so loud that it caused the tiles to crack, stacks of coins to tumble like an avalanche of gold and for Killian to slip and fall.

"Silly human," The giant chuckled, "One leap and down."

Killian's eyebrows shot up. "If you're suicidal."

The giant shook his head. "It doesn't kill me."

The look on the giant's face made Killian feel something he hadn't felt in years—sympathy.

…

Peter had never felt raw magic until he stepped foot into the trading stall.

It was filled with treasure, just like Killian had said—piles of gold, mounds of jewels, stacks of golden bars, shiny shields, pristine armor, swords of varying metals and sizes with jewel- and polished stone-encrusted hilts. Yellowed scrolls were pinned to the walls of the ship; ink bottles dripped onto the desks that were scattered around the room.

Killian took the first step forward, picking up a pile of golden doubloons in both of his hands, letting them slip through his fingers like a golden waterfall.

Peter attentively looked around, eyeing a pile of powdery golden dust.

"Kill, is it safe down here?" He asked, walking toward the dust.

Killian chuckled. "What could go wrong?"

Peter held his hand over the dust, poking his finger into the mountain, making it look like a golden volcano. He rubbed his fingers together, inspecting the dust.

"Look at this!" Killian shouted.

Peter spun around, his hand knocking into the dust pile. The dust flew across the room, dousing him and all of the treasure in a thin layer of glitter.

Killian held a scroll out to Peter's face.

It was a map—complete with the dotted lines, a creepily drawn skull and a crude red X slashed beside a circle of water, over a dark outline of a bluish gray cave. The island was surrounded by aquamarine water; the island was an almost boomerang-shape, tan near the shore and dotted with jungle as it receded into the middle.

"X marks the spot!" Killian said, excitement glimmering in his eyes. "It's a treasure map, Peter! Do you know what that means?"

"Uh," Peter said, staring at Killian blankly.

"It means we can find it! We can find the treasure!" Killian whipped the map around to press it against his face. "I can already taste it!"

Peter shifted his head as he heard a noise. He turned, his eyes widening as glittery coins and papery scrolls began to _float._

Killian, too absorbed in the map, didn't notice and began worrying over how much gold his two pockets, his trousers, his boots and his hands could hold if he stuffed them in tightly enough, without breaking the stitches.

Peter stared at the floating objects, turning to Killian and watching him obliviously smooth out his map in vain. Peter's brain wondered then—Killian was taller than him, right? Then, why was he towering over him…?

Peter's eyes widened as he stared at his shadow, underneath him. His shadow waggled its finger at him, dashing across the room to stand on the wall, its feet stepping on a few dozens scrolls, wrinkling them enough to catch Killian's attention.

"Peter, what are you—" Killian turned, irritated, when his eyes scanned the spot Peter had been. His eyes trailed up his shadow, until he was staring, shell-shocked, at a floating Peter.

"Oh my god—," Killian gasped, dropping the map, "Peter! How—"

Peter pointed accusingly at the golden dust.

Killian's eyes gleamed as he rushed towards the dust.

"Pixie dust," He whispered, in total awe.

Peter struggled to land back on the ground, only to do a somersault in the air.

He let out an exasperated groan. "What did you say? I can't land."

"This is pixie dust," Killian said, straightening, as he gestured to the dust.

"We had pixies back at my home port," Peter said, somersaulting once, twice. "They lived in this grove in the forest. There were a bunch of them—but they just, _disappeared_ one day. I couldn't find them."

Killian nodded, turning to Peter. "Can you float down?"

Peter shook his head, outstretching his hands. Killian grabbed a hold of Peter's wrists and pulled him down.

"Let's see if we can find anything else," Killian said, grabbing a rope and wrapping it around Peter's waist, which he tied to his own wrist.

Peter floated around some shelves, pulling out dusty books, bottles of oils, velvet sacks of coins and rubies, until he found a brown drawstring sack, engraved with golden cursive, _Escort to Neverland._

Peter shook the sack, hearing muddled clacks.

Peter undid the drawstring, tipping the sack into his palm. Three clear beans landed in his palm. They were cool to the touch, glinting like a white star.

Peter turned slightly. "Kill, I think I found something."

Killian straightened, trying to see over a stack of thick books. "What is it?"

Peter glanced down. "Uh, beans."

Killian wrinkled his nose. "Like, food?"

Peter shook his head. "I don't think they're meant to be eaten."

Killian stood, placing his hands on the top of the book stack to try and see, since Peter still hovered over the shipboards.

Killian's eyes widened. "I've read a story about these. They take you to another dimension."

Peter laughed. "A dimension? We only have _this _dimension."

Killian shook his head. "No. There's realms even more powerful than this one, without magic."

Peter rolled his eyes. "_Suuure._ Like there's a place without magic."

Killian shrugged. "Could happen."

…

Peter Young jerked the wheel on his beaten car.

The car looked as if The Hulk had thought it was a Lego and had stomped on it in aggravation. The back windows were replaced with plastic wrap and duct tape. The heating and air conditioning was jacked up. The dashboard made an angry humming and it took three kicks to get the generator to start.

Peter hated it, to be honest, but it was his _own._

Peter cruised down the slick streets, his eyes flitting to his rearview mirror. He turned the wheel, passing Granny's Bed & Breakfast and Gold's Pawn Shop.

Peter passed the school building and a bunch of fancy houses until he found the parking garage for the local orphanage he'd learned to call 'home'.

Peter parked, tucking his keys into his pocket as he shouldered the thick oak doors open.

Peter did a call he'd learned when he was younger—it was almost a cross between a wolf howl and a rooster cry. The rest of the boys currently living in the orphanage knew that the call was Peter's way of saying, "Get the hell over here."

An entire crowd of boys rushed down the stairwell, shoving each other to try and get down them the fastest. The youngest, Peter's blood brother, was trailing behind, a light blue blanket in his closed fist as he sucked on his thumb.

Sam, of course, had shoved past everyone and stood at attention at the bottom of the stairs. He was grinning toothily, showing off his buckteeth. His blonde hair grazed his eyebrows as he raised his arm in a salute, wrinkling his orange plaid shirt.

Christopher was next, though it surprised Peter, considering how big Chris was and how he'd broken a sweat just trying to get off his bunk.

The twins were next, trying to hop over each other, as they argued over who got 3rd place. One insult led to the next, and suddenly, they were having a sibling feud, punching each other and tackling one another until they were wrestling on the floor.

Nathan stood back with Timmy, eventually picking him up and swinging him onto his shoulders, which Timmy thought was hilarious by his hysterical laughter.

Peter laughed, taking Timmy from Nate, to poke him in his freckled cheeks.

Timmy stuck his tongue out in annoyance, before snuggling into Peter's chest, wrapping his tiny arms around his neck.

"So, boys," Peter started, "Where's Trixie?"

Nate sighed. "She left."

Peter's shoulders slumped. "What? Seriously?"

Chris crossed his chubby arms. "Yeah, _seriously. _You guys were supposed to work on your project. You set her up. _Again._"

Peter sighed. "I-I didn't mean to. I was hanging out with Sandra and the other cheerleaders… I lost track of time."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Of _course_."

Peter felt a sudden vibrate in his back pocket. He pulled out his cell phone to stare at the bouncing envelope underneath the white lettering—**Billy.**

Peter opened the message.

From Billy—

**Dude, where the hell are you? Trix is at Granny's talking to Rube. I repeat, where the HELL are you?**

Peter quickly typed a reply.

To Billy—

**I'm at home. I'll get there in a few minutes.**

Peter turned to the boys.

"I gotta go, alright?" Peter started.

The twins stopped pulling each other's hair to look up and pout.

"But you just got here, Peter!" They whined in harmony.

"Yeah, I know," Peter murmured, kissing Timmy on the forehead and handing him off to Sam. "I'll be back before you know it."

…

Killian tugged on the chain, hearing it strain slightly.

Killian eyed the giant's turned back as Killian tugged again.

He tugged twice, three times, four.

At the fourth tug a screw unbolted.

Tugging a few more times, another screw unbolted and another until he could rip the chain from the wall. Good thing it was rusted or he never would've gotten out of it.

He didn't have enough time to thank his lucky stars—the giant was already turning, a surprised expression over his face.

Killian stared at the clear run toward the exit, and without thinking, he bolted forward, nearly getting smashed more times than he could possibly count.

As Killian darted toward the exit, the giant lifted his foot and stomped down, right on top of Killian before he screamed in pain.

Killian let his hooked hand, which had been resting over his head, fall down to his side. Killian sighed, turning on the heel of his boot as he whispered, "Another thing on my list to find—a rabbit, a crocodile, a pixie and a _swan_."

**Sorry for the slow updating -_- but, it is Thanksgiving weekend for me, so, basically, it means Update-All-Your-Stories-You-Lazy-Bum.**

**Review.**


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